


and if you can't feel their teeth

by goshemily



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: M/M, PTSD, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-26
Updated: 2012-11-26
Packaged: 2017-11-19 14:34:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/574298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goshemily/pseuds/goshemily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the trope meme, for the "forced to share a bed" prompt:</p>
<p>
  <i>It’s not fair that Brad is so close that they almost touch.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	and if you can't feel their teeth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amoama](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amoama/gifts).



It’s not fair that Brad is so close that they almost touch. It’s not fair, and Nate knows better than many that the world isn’t fair, but his skin is raw with the truth that tomorrow morning Brad will get up and get dressed and leave, that tonight will mean nothing more to Brad than Ray’s jokes and a bit of discomfort. To Brad, tonight won’t ache.

Bravo Two all came for Walt’s wedding; of course they did. Their stubborn camaraderie is part of why Nate loves his men. But Sally’s got a big family too, almost as many older brothers as when Ray started naming all of Walt’s this afternoon – “There’s Brad, and Rudy, and Rolling Stone counts I guess, and Poke, and Pappy, and me obviously, and oh my God _does this make Trombley my baby brother_ – ” and “There’s no more room at the inn,” Brad had said a few hours ago, sardonic mouth, come to find them all by the hotel pool after trying to check in.

“You can’t share with me,” Ray said. “Sally’s sister is hot.”

“Uh, we’re bunking together, bro,” Lilley said.

“Nah.”

“Like, my shit’s already in the room, man.”

“Nah.”

“You can share with me,” Nate said to Brad, ignoring his pulse in his throat surely obvious to the world, “if you don’t mind one bed.”

Brad had nodded.

Now, Nate’s pulse is still in his throat and his left hand is two feet from Brad’s right hand and he can hear Brad’s steady breathing in the dark, not asleep either, not asleep. _I want you_ he articulates in his head, distinct and calm and trying to quell his heartbeat. _I want you and I can’t have you. I want you._

He never let himself jack off to his men in Iraq, never, but five minutes home and his hand was on his cock and he was thinking about Brad, shirt off and golden in the sun, Brad smiling at him, Brad fucking him, Brad’s blue eyes and bleached hair and strong hands. In the long months following their return, tired and ill, Nate used to tell himself lies trying not to sleep and trying not to dream. _Brad was our lieutenant_ , every night. _He took care of us. I was a sergeant. Brad was our lieutenant. He took care of us._

Nate’s watch ticks loudly on the bedside table.

“You’re awake,” Brad says softly.

“So are you.”

Very slowly, Brad reaches out and takes Nate’s hand.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from Phil Cousineau's "Born to Be Blue," which talks about depression and loss, and which ends:
> 
> _And if you can't feel their teeth_
> 
> _Gnawing on yours then you just_   
> _Haven't been reading very closely._


End file.
